


GONE - Inspired by the book by Michael Grant

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: GONE by Michael Grant - Freeform, M/M, based on a book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellcross Bay, also known as 'Fallout Valley' is well-known for it's nuclear meltdown fifteen years ago.</p><p>At precisely 11:57am on Thursday 15th May 2016, every single person over the age of fifteen poofs. Dan Howell is in class, already knowing of this strange phenomenon-after he develops a strange ability weeks prior to the poof. Phil Lester, spoilt city kid, is on a road-trip with his aunt, when suddenly she disappears in front of his very eyes, leaving him on the brink of death after their car flips over. Two sides will come together; the town kids, and the kids from the boarding school up the road, in a world without parents, authority and kids with strange abilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GONE - Inspired by the book by Michael Grant

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so you may have read the GONE series by Michael Grant, and damn, its so fucking good, I've decided to write my taken on it! :3 I hope you guys like it! and...ah, give this kudos and comment your opinions if you do? :)

\--  
The light was completely unexpected.

The light was impossible- glowing tendrils of light balled together into one singular piece of something that shouldn’t exist. 

Except it did, and he was staring at it. 

Dan Howell sat up in bed, squinting at the seemingly singular glowing ball of yellow light floating inches away from his face, his brown eyes wide in confusion and wonder. He was only planning on getting up to switch the TV off where he had left an old episode of Parks and recreation playing, but the light definitely caught his attention. Dan wondered for a second if he was dreaming. Yes, that would make complete sense, right? He leant against the wood of his headboard, snuggling back into his pillows whilst wiping disheveled strands of chocolate brown hair out of his eyes. He yawned, eyes still fixated on the glowing ball of light which was, honest to god, floating in mid air a few inches away from his face. No strings, no batteries included- the light was there and it didn’t seem to be disappearing no matter how many times he blinked rapidly and pinched the skin of his arm. Dan stared, his eyes never leaving the light. It was real.

He wasn’t imagining it. Dan, still staring, completely bewildered by the strange phenomenon illuminating his dark bedroom, reached out a shaky hand, fingers itching and tingling to touch the strange light. But the second his wriggling fingers made contact with the strange ball of light, it blinked out of existence. 

Dan stared for a few more seconds, part of him wanting to investigate where the ball of light had gone and the other part of him wanting to check the empty glass on his nightstand for roofies. But instead, after a quick glance at his clock on his nightstand glowing a fluorescent red, projecting the numbers 3:55PM, he settled back into bed, pulling his duvet around him to hide and perhaps deny the fact that he was shaking. 

Lying on his side, Dan waited a few seconds or minutes, he wasn’t sure, for the light to reappear, but it didn’t. His eyes grew heavy suddenly, and he found himself slowly starting to fall into slumber.

I imagined it, he told himself firmly, as he pressed his head further into his pillow, perhaps to bury himself away from his thoughts which despite his sleeping mind, still continued to prod him with questions. 

But as he drifted from consciousness, he couldn’t help question the sudden glowing light, and why exactly, despite himself repeatedly internally denying it, why did he feel the light was something he had created? 

 

\---  
One. 

 

Balancing a pencil on the edges of his lips, Dan let out a sigh and wished the damn school had some kind of air-conditioning. It was getting on for twenty five degrees, boiling hot and way over average for England. He felt his eyes start to droop as he forced his eyes to focus on the board where the teacher had scrawled a bunch of notes in bright green marker for the upcoming exam. 

In front of him, Joe Sugg bent over his book, scribbling furiously. Dan rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he ever so slightly kicked the leg of his classmate’s chair. Joe stopped writing, but didn't turn around. He only let out a groan. Dan wanted a reaction, because fuck, he was bored as hell and in any normal class, Joe would turn and give him the finger, but retaliate. And normally that would leave them both in stitches. But not in history. Dan scowled at the back of Joe’s head. His perfectly brushed light brown hair delicately fashioned into a quiff. 

Joe was attractive to look at, but the back of his head just got boring. He remembered last week during double AP History. He had counted every single mole on Joe’s neck. And hell, there were a lot of them. 

“Now if you get these bits down, I can assure at least an A,” the Advanced History teacher drawled, writing something on the board. Dan was too hot and tired to even consider copying the notes down. The classroom door was open, which at least relieved him slightly. A small smile curved the edges of his lips as he silently praised his parents for moving to Ellcross Bay four years earlier. At least he could stare out of the window and imagine himself sitting on the beach with a good book or even just playing app games. He liked to draw too. Every weekend he’d take the nowhere route, a road nicknamed that because it was just dusty gravel for at least forty minutes. It took him twenty minutes on his bike and a further ten if he had to haul his little sister along. At the beach he would set up his canvas and brushes and draw the landscape. Sometimes the town itself; the mountain peaks and church steeples, the bright blue sky on a good day, or a deep grey when it rained. He loved to draw. It relaxed him. 

Staring out of the window now, the stuffiness of the classroom and his boredom forgotten, he leant his head on the heel of his hand, letting his eyes wander outside across the school grounds. Not much to see, only Mr Pearson the school’s gardener planting flowers with names he had forgotten, but bet his mother knew each and every one of them off by heart. 

“Dan, is there something wrong?” Mrs Teller's voice snapped him out of it slightly and he turned his attention to the front of the class where the history teacher stood, hands firmly on her hips and her mouth pressed into a wrinkled frown. Dan cleared his throat and looked down at his notes which were a blur of blue biro. “Uh-” his voice was muffled, his pencil still between his lips. He grabbed his pen and scanned the board, suddenly completely awake. 

“Sorry miss, I’m just hot,” his voice sounded slurred and uncaring as his pencil still sat wedged between his lower lip and upper canines. 

The teacher doesn't look impressed. “Really? Because it looks like you were staring out of the window, daydreaming, Daniel,” Mrs Teller is a force to be reckoned with, Dan thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes skyward. “No,” he shook his head, this time failing to keep the sarcasm from his tone. “It’s actually pretty easy to concentrate whilst in a room which is nearing boiling point.” At that, one of his classmates rolled her sleeves up with a sigh. It looked like everyone was getting flustered in the heat. 

It turned out that, like almost every time, Mrs Teller took what he said to heart. “If you know what you're doing, then come up to the board and create a timeline detailing the British empire during the slave trade!” her voice was sharp and condescending as she held out the bright green board marker in his direction. Dan bit back what might have been a string of what his mother would call “cuss words” and stood up, striding to the front with his trademark smirk. The back of pants had actually stuck to the plastic of his chair with sweat leaving him with an uncomfortable damp patch right on his backside. 

“What do you want me to write, again?” Dan winked at his classmates who chose to ignore him, but all felt that individual sense of class rebellion. He kept that oh-so-slick grin plastered on his tan face as he took the green marker from his teacher and turned to face the board. Man, he was happy he had decided to go through the AP history textbook at the beginning of the year. With a cursive and rather triumphant smirk directed at the scowling teacher, Dan chewed the lid off with his teeth and let it clatter to the floor. Every single eye in the room was on him, and he was okay with that. He was a tall boy for fifteen years old- his head very nearly touched the ceiling. With a head of chestnut brown hair and a dimply grin, Dan was one of those boys the girls liked to whisper and giggle about, but he never actually got female attention. Never mind, though. He, despite denying it most of his life, preferred guys. 

“I’m not telling you again,” Mrs Teller, sounding almost defeated, grumbled in answer to his question. 

Dan cleared his throat, rolling his shirt sleeves up.

He might as well make a scene now, it was probably the only fun he’d be getting all week. Hallie (Harriet) Howell was his little sister with severe autism. Her features matched her brothers; she had his long brown hair, chocolate coloured eyes and dimply smile. Though that was where the similarities, at least personality wise, ended. Hallie Elizabeth Howell was five years old, had pigtails and always had her Dora the Explorer backpack strapped to her back. Dan loved her, he really did. But sometimes she never talked, never uttered a word. The doctor said she had what was called “Profound Autism,” where anything could make Hallie incredibly sensitive. For example, she has to have her Dora the Explorer backpack. If she didn’t, she would throw a fit. Sometimes it took Dan up to an hour to calm her down, where he’s sit her in his lap and let her tiny fingers clutch the bag to her chest as his soft and soothing voice calmed her. 

“Shh...shh, Hallie,” he would murmur in her ear, as her breathing went back to normal, every so often hitching with a quiet sob. “I’m here, it’s okay.” When he finally managed to calm her down, he'd leave her to stare down at her backpack with a happy smile on her face. Dan loved his little sister, but sometimes he wished he didn't have to play the parent. 

Dan’s mother was almost always working at the local hospital, so it was always Dan who was left with little Hallie, and it was always him left without a social life. Which he didn't mind. Hallie needed 24 hour care and observance. He had to go and pick her up from Elcross Power Plant, where his dad worked as an engineer. Hallie loved it there; she enjoyed sitting on the spinning chairs for staff with her backpack, staring in wonder at the machinery in the plant. 

Dan began to write a paragraph about the slave trade on the board, the marker squeaking as he pressed it maybe a bit harder than he should have. He wrote in his best cursive handwriting, finishing with a full stop before squeaking the pen again, underlining his made-up timeline. With a grin, he turned to face the teacher to give her the marker back, but his face fell slightly when he was instead met with the confused and slightly amused expressions of his class. 

“Where…?” Dan’s hand wavered in mid-air, still holding the board pen. He scanned the classroom and waited for an explanation, but none came. Instead a pretty blonde girl named Louise stood up warily. “Where did Mrs Teller go?”

Her question was on everyone’s lips, and after a few seconds, Joe Sugg let out a nervous laugh. “Did anyone just see Mrs Teller poof?” 

Another girl, a bonnie brunette, stood up and slapped the wood of her desk with her hands. “I thought I was the only one!” she giggled, meeting eyes with Dan. 

“You saw it right?” She raised her voice as Dan made his way back to his desk. He didn't know why, but the teachers board marker still dangled from his fingers. He shrugged and was about to answer her, when suddenly a boy with curly brown hair- Dan recognised a boy who lived near him. PJ Liguori, an artsy kid who Dan had known practically all his life, ran into the classroom, his facial expression a mixture between fear and excitement. 

“Mr Preston just…” PJ up his face, his cheeks a deep scarlet maybe from the heat or the excitement, Dan would never know. The boy made crazy hand gestures imitating an explosion? Dan settled back into his chair, his head was starting to hurt. He watched PJ play a manic game of charades with the class, his grin getting wider and wider. A magic trick? Dan watched the excited boy with a growing sense of unsettlement in his stomach. 

Disappearance. Dan’s stomach wavered as he rose in his chair slightly, catching PJ’s excited green eyes. 

PJ was miming that his teacher had…..poofed. 

Just like Mrs. Teller. 

“I saw it, man!” a bleached blonde kid from Africa, stood up and imitated a ‘poof’ with both hands. “Mrs Teller was there was one minute…” he paused for effect, “and gone the next.” his grin was starting to unsettle Dan, though he wasn't sure why.

“Is this all the teachers?” Joe got up as a half Japanese kid let out a cry. “My signal’s gone!” 

“You okay?” Joe looks worried as he makes his way over as more and more kids start to yell out. 

“My twitter isn't updating!”  
“Oh god, the WIFI’s down!” 

“ Dan, you look pale,” Joe waves a hand in front of Dan’s face. “Dan?” 

Sudden cries from the corridor, joined by the screeches of car alarms from outside join the noise, and Dan nods, shaking his head and ignoring the pain starting to leach its way across the forehead.

Dan follows the others onto the corridor, where they are met by chaos. Kids of all year groups are running around; some of them screaming about ‘the day of the rapture has arrived’ while older kids broke into the vending machines, sweet wrappers and cans already littered the corridors as kids, realizing they were no longer under authority- decided to help themselves. Some kids wandered around in small groups hugging each other whilst gangs of thugs, mostly year elevens, broke into lockers and raided the cafeteria. 

“Is this everywhere?” PJ had lost the excited gleam in his turquoise eyes and instead stared at the mass of kids, an edge of panic in his tone. “Hey, Sophie!” he pulled a curly haired brunette out of the crowd, before she was crushed by the mass of teenagers. 

She looked startled for a second before seeming to recognize PJ. “Oh, hey guys!” she yelled over the loud music kids were blasting. Year eleven moron Alfie Deyes had dragged out a speaker from one of the music rooms and had connected it to his iPhone. 

“Soph, is this everywhere?!” PJ yelled over some heavy metal band screeching at such a high velocity, Dan wouldn’t be surprised if his ears started bleeding, never mind his headache. 

“As far as I know!” Sophie yelled back, pulling her brown hair into a ponytail. “I’ve just come from the nursery down the road, I was doing work experience there!” she shouted, then, irritated, she span around and yelled at Alfie to turn the music down. 

“You what?!” Alfie cupped an ear, laughing. He was surrounded by nearly every year eleven boy, and a bunch of girls even Dan not to mess with. “What did you say?!” Alfie yelled louder, cranking up the volume to the highest volume. 

“Let's go outside,” Sophie eyed the three of them before they could protest. She sighed. “Look, the nursery is abandoned.” she took a breath. “No adults,” she caught Joe’s wide eyes and folded her arms. “I left Poppy and Nina in charge of the kids but,” she looked like she was going to cry. “This is all over town.” The pain in Dan’s head grew worse. Sophie started to walk back down the corridor, and the boys were following. 

They passed the masses of kids that had moved in packs outside. The four of them reached the school’s exit and followed the crowd of students out of the building. Kids were abandoning their uniforms, burning them in the street and even stripping to their underwear. Dan stared. He really stared, and yes, this was actually happening right now; 

The main road running parallel to the school was awash with cars, abandoned and broke into by kids. The occupants gone- poof- like all the teachers. A bus had crashed into a wall, Dan could still see a pram withholding a screaming baby still on the bottom deck. 

“As far as we know, every single adult in this town has gone.” Sophie’s words struck Dan hard, and one word him in the chest. 

“My sister,” he all but choked on his own voice, as he started to back away. Hallie was at the power plant, which would have no adults. Which meant his autistic little sister was on her own while kids as young as nine were hijacking busses and joyriding. 

“I have to go-” he was already power-walking down the path away from them, trying to think of the best and quickest way to the plant. If all the adults have poofed, he thought as he quickened his pace, does that mean his parents were gone too? 

“Dan, wait!” Joe, PJ and Sophie joined him. “We’ll find her,” Joe smiled reassuringly, and Sophie tugged her tie off, stuffing it in the pocket of her skirt. “We can take Nowhere road, that leads right to the plant,” Sophie’s voice was breathy as the four of them ran. 

All around them, kids were taking full advantage of the phenomenon. He saw gangs breaking into houses, a bunch of girls walking out of a posh looking house holding multiple cats. Two blonde twins with matching blonde ponytails that couldn't have been older than five had a golden retriever puppy on a green lead.

“They’re actually breaking into houses?” Joe stared as a bunch of kids from Alfie’s gang carried out a flat screen TV and PlayStation four out onto the road. 

“As if!” PJ whistled. 

“Come on, if we run, we might get there for…” Sophie checked her phone. “About four.” she continued to stare down at the sleek object, her fingers stroking the screen. “When we’ve got your sister, can we go to each of our houses and see if everything’s okay?” she smiled at Dan, sticking her phone back in her skirt pocket. 

Dan nodded in agreement. “Okay, let's go.” 

\-----

Phil 

Family holiday. Phil Lester thought with a quiet snort. It would be a family holiday if he was with his actual family, and not his annoying Aunt Jane, who for some reason had decided that she really liked Carly Rae Jepsen's new album and was blasting it at an unhealthy volume. Worse still, the windows were open, and yes, Phil admitted, it was a boiling hot day, but for fuck sake, did Aunt Jane have to be so damn happy? He sat in the backseat of Aunt Jane’s expensive red sports car, yet another thing his mother hated. Is that why she sent him on a two week holiday with the women? Did she really think speeding down some dead-ass road in the middle of the nowhere while some annoying popstar screeched about her lovelife with the windows open would ‘cure his bad attitude’? 

He’d only done what he had always done since he was old enough to beg some older kid to get him fake ID. Getting wasted wasn’t exactly a new thing for Phil, and he didn’t understand why his mother had gotten so damn pissed. He had only had a ‘few; drinks. He wouldn’t call being passed out on the sofa, surrounded by vodka bottles, anything new? So why now? Why didn’t his mother ship him off to some boarding school when he was thirteen, instead of sending him to live with his Aunt Jane, who was, he was sure, the reason why things like Satan and hell existed. 

Phil looked up from his phone, his lips pressed into what he hoped was a patient frown. He blew a sweaty strand of inky black hair out of his eyes and sent a side-glance at the border collie sitting next to him on the plush leather seats. Della ‘Delaware’ had been a gift from his mother before she sent him on this stupid trip. So far, he had yelled at the dog for doing almost everything dog’s naturally do; shtting, getting excited, curling up on his knee, and oh god, licking his face.  
Though Della seemed to hate the trip more than Phil. The dog stared at him with wide eyes, seeming to understand his feelings. He wasn’t even sure why he’d called the dog ‘Della,’ it was the name of his year eight girlfriend, a pretty blonde who had introduced him to the wonders of vodka and cigarettes- two things he respected more than this ridiculous holiday and over-the-top-almost-in-a-scary-way aunt. 

“Do you have to play that so loud?” Phil let out an exasperated breath, wiping his sweaty forehead. At the time, his mother had shoved at least five bottles of Factor 5 suncream in his suitcase, after seeing that it was going to be an “Indian Summer”. Phil had chucked them all out, making space for his secret stash of Raspberry Smirnoff and specially mixed spirits. Though he was starting to regret not bringing the suncream. His skin was a pallid white, almost translucent. He was sure he was part albino; but with his charcoal hair and blue eyes, Phil Lester was quite the looker to both sexes. 

Phil sat forward, gripping the back of his aunt’s seat. His seatbelt yanked him back, and he bit back an F bomb. One thing Aunt Jane absolutely despised was swearing. So this trip had been fun. the stupid dog had shit all over his room on the first night, and after getting slightly tipsy (apparently wasted) said Aunt Jane, he’d stepped in Della’s lovely pile of feces, causing him to cry out a mixture of garbled gibberish and many, many F bombs. That had earned him a week of washing up and cleaning away after dinner. As well as his alcohol confiscated. So now all he had was his stash of cigarettes hidden under his mattress, and one singular can of probably warm whisky by now, in his bag. 

“How far is this town, again, where the hell are we even going? Does this car even have air conditioning?” His phone had died ages ago, and damn was he itching to grab his charger out of his bag, which was unfortunately in the boot. But Aunt Jane was absolutely insistent on them waiting until they arrived at this town. He was tired of looking out of the window, and he was hungry and thirsty, and he just wanted to go home and drink, and maybe smoke. Who cared? 

“It’s just another fifteen or so minutes, Phil,” Aunt Jane cranked up the radio and whooped loudly as Carly Rae Jepsen ft Autotune screeched out yet another fancy chorus about falling in love. 

Phil sat back in his seat, defeated. At least the plush leather seats were warm. He tried his utmost to block out Aunt Jane’s singing-along to the radio, and lay his head against the open window, letting his arm trail out into the open air. A rush of relief flooded him as the cool air made contact with his sweaty skin. “How far are we now?” he asked, over the blaring music. Aunt Jane had told him numerous times to ‘enjoy the view’ which had made him snort and spit out, “What view?” but looking out now and actually taking in the landscapes, Phil allowed himself to let out a steady breath. They were driving down a gravel road in the middle of nowhere, but the sky was a deep blue, the sun bam smack in the middle. All around them were fields of lush green grass where sheep and cows lay, probably exhausted from the heat. Phil let a small smile cross his lips as he stuck his head further out of the window, allowing a sudden rush of wind to crash into his face, relieving him completely. Though that was weird. It wasn’t windy a minute ago, he thought, ducking back into the car properly. “So where exactly are we-” 

His words died in his throat as the music suddenly stopped and Aunt Jane, pretty Aunt Jane with her long silky black hair and wide smile, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to beat, winked out of existence in front of his very eyes. 

Phil didn’t have time question his sanity, or even yell out. Before he knew it, the speeding car was screeching down the road, and fuck, he couldn’t get out because of his damn seatbelt. He couldn’t- he couldn’t get into the driving seat- the...empty seat? Phil’s feverish thoughts span around his head as he squirmed in his seat, trying to lunge out of the belts grip, but to no avail. 

I’m going to die, he thought. I’m going to-

It went so fast. One second the car was drunkenly barrelling down the road, and the next, he was lurching against the seat belt. Down the car went so fast, Phil felt his head smash against the roof, but he had no time to yell out or even think about the pain. He reached out desperately, fingers grasping for the steering wheel, his teeth gnashed together as the car slammed into something.

And suddenly he was rolling over and over, and over and over, his brain smashing smashing against his skull. He was tossed around and around, his body getting helplessly crushed repeatedly against the roof- then the seats- then the roof. He was an agitator in a washing machine. The windshield shattered against his stomach, the gearshift was like a club against his face. 

And then the car stopped rolling, and lay still. Phil lay twisted and tangled, limbs impossibly sticking in every direction. Blood poured from his nose, ran from his mouth making him choke out a desperate cry. He was stuck, impossibly sandwiched between the front and back seats. He tried to move his arm, and instead an agonising pain ripped down the entire right side of his body. 

He screamed. He was going to die. 

I’m dying, he thought, wanting to cry. But there was too much pain. “Help!” he managed a croak. “Somebody help me!” The car was upside down on the road, Phil still strapped in by his seatbelt. His broken legs dangled helplessly, and he had no feeling in his arms. His lay, eyes wide open in horror, perhaps waiting to die. The sun was blaring down on him through the shattered windows.  
“Della!” he managed another croak, remembering the dog. 

No familiar bark in answer came, and Phil let out another choked cry. “Fucking help me!” 

Nothing. The silence burned in his ears, and he was pretty sure a clump of his brain had leaked out. even the birdsong had disappeared- that buzz of life that everyone hears, but not all the time really acknowledges it. That was gone. 

Maybe he was deaf. His ears felt shredded, the only real feeling was the trickling blood slipping down his neck from them. 

He shut his eyes, praying to every god which existed, that the pain stopped, that he died quickly, and fuck, that no hungry fox came along and chowed down on his remains. 

His right arm was done for, but when he attempted to move his left, it slapped with a sickening splat, onto his chest, his green-checker t-shirt that had been ripped open, exposing a rather disgusting looking wound, which surely would soon go septic. Breathing hard against the pain, Phil put as much pressure on the wound as possible, trying to stop the flow of blood which stained every exposed part of his body. 

His head was swimming, his body wanting to give up from the agony. I’ll just close my eyes for a second, he thought dreamily, and before he knew it, he was no longer looking at the bright blue sky through the smashed roof, bits of twisted metal sticking inches away from his face. 

He was staring at darkness. 

\-----

He wasn't sure how long it had been. Seconds, minutes, hours? But when Phil managed to open his eyes, he was no longer in pain. His head was still thumping dully against his skull, but the agony in almost every limb in his body, was gone. Was he dead? the minute he pried open his eyes, the sun blinded him, and he lifted up a hand to shield his gaze, and then froze. 

His arm, no his arms! He tested them, bringing them up to his face, and waiting for the pain, waiting for them to dangle uselessly in front of his eyes. But they didn’t. Phil tried to speak, his mouth dry and salty from the blood. He wiggled his fingers, and then looked down at his stomach. He was still hanging upside down from his seatbelt, but his legs- his legs were dangling. He was pretty damn sure they had been twisted and broken a few seconds, minutes, hours earlier, but now..now he could bend them and wiggle his toes. 

Phil let out a cry, stretching his arms- his healed arms- grasping to click the seat belt clasp off. He managed to click the red button, and suddenly he was crashing down onto his back, straight onto the gravel road. His back screamed out in protest, but his legs, his legs bent and moved so he was sitting up. He couldn't speak- couldn’t articulate his feelings. He looked at his chest and stomach, where earlier his flesh had been torn through his t-shirt, the white of his ribs showing through. But now all he saw was fleshy pink skin of his chest stitched back together, almost as if by magic. His shirt was still bloodstained, and when he caught his reflection in the shattered mirror, his face was scratched and bloody, blue eyes wide in confusion and amazement. 

Phil clawed his way out of the car wreck and crawled across the gravel of the road, his legs aching, oh god, everything ached. But he was- he alive. And somehow, completely healed. 

“Della..” His voice was a dry rasp, and then a startled yell. “Della!” he spotted a familiar patch of black and white fur a few meters away, and when he crawled over, Della, his stupid dog, was laying on the road, whimpering. She was in a pretty bad condition; her legs were twisted like his had been, bent into a V shape, whilst her coat was stained a dirty scarlet red. 

“Hey girl,” Phil’s eyes burned with tears as he lay next to her, his head hitting the concrete and he stared up at the sky. “It’s gonna be okay,” he cooed, but choked on his words. the dog was done for, her legs quivering as she tried to move. He lay a shaky hand on her back, fur slick with blood, and stroked her. She whimpered in response. He could feel her breaks weakening from her broken snout, her wide green eyes terrified. They were fluttering as the dog fought to stay conscious. 

Someone will find them, Phil thought, as he wrapped his arms around the dog, burying his head in her fur. He willed his eyes to shut. Someone will find them, and it’ll all be okay. 

His body ached against the rough gravel, and the heat of the sun burned his face. He didn’t know when Della was going to take her last breath and how was it fair that he lived and she didn’t? He wrapped his arms tighter around the dog and let tears slip down his cheeks. 

He was going to stay with her. 

 

\-------------

He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep, but when a familiar bark jolted him awake, Phil pried his eyes open once again, and let out a muffled cry of surprise, as a slick wet tongue lciked his face, causing him to sit up, his mouth hanging open. Della was stood- stood! in front of him, her eyes excited and playful as she lunged forwards to lick him again. He swallowed whatever words were on his tongue as he stared at the border collie- Della’s legs were straight once more, her paws bouncing up and down on the pavement as she eagerly anticipated his awakening. 

 

“Della!” his voice was back, a cry of surprise and happiness. His cheeks were still stained with tears, but it was as if the dog was never hurt, the only telltale sign of her being in the crash, was her fur still coloured a dark red. 

Della yipped in excitement and tried to lick him again, but he pushed her away laughing, and before he knew what he was consciously doing, he was wrapping his arms around the border collar and laughing into her fur so much tears started to slide down his cheeks once more. She was alive- the dog had been on the brink of death, like him, and she too had healed. 

Phil pulled away, wiping his eyes and stood up on shaky legs, the events of the crash starting to resurface in his mind. Aunt Jenna had...gone. Disappeared right in front of his eyes. 

He allowed himself a nervous glance at his blood stained hands, glaring at them suspiciously, thinking about them pressed against his own wounds and then Della’s. Was he..did he heal them?

Phil stared at the wreck of the car and called Della to his side. he had to go and get help. The silence was still deafening. Phil fiddled with his fringe, brushing it out of his face, and turned clockwise on the road to face the road ahead. It was just gravel. Sandwiched between the steel blue sky, the sun still blaring against his skin. Phil let out a breath and cleared his throat. 

If he started walking now, he’ll get to the town ahead in at least half an hour, he thought remembering his aunt’s words. He refused to think about his hands, and the possibility that he had healed both himself and Della. Because that was crazy, right? 

“Come on girl,” Phil started to walk, the dog following excitedly. With one last look towards the wreck of Aunt Jane’s red sports car crushed against the gravel, he turned his back and started to walk north. 

\-----

TBC 

-  
ahh man, I hope I did the series justice? (nervous laughter) send me an ask what you think! and ahh, like and reblog if you would like a second part :) 

Critical feedback is appreciated :3


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